


Rumours

by TheMagicMeep



Series: Trust and a lack thereof [8]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Background Relationships, Established Relationship, F/M, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMagicMeep/pseuds/TheMagicMeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>France's reputation when it comes to relationships is not the best but luckily Scotland does not believe everything she hears</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rumours

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a prompt from Nekoian and was influenced by a chat I had with losthitsu so thank you to the both of them!

Sitting for so long, and in so tight a dress, was starting to get on her nerves but the “party” still showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. In fact judging by the amount of pissed off their tits nations doing what could only be called _dancing_ if you were feeling charitable the night had only begun.

 In Scotland’s own opinion this occasion was a fine example of why Germany should not be allowed to organise anything that was meant to be _fun._ There was most likely not a good manual for hosting a good night out with a load of nations but she was willing to bet Germany had looked. It just seemed like the sort of thing he’d do. But then to be fair to the man this was a _formal_ occasion and in Scotland’s experience the words formal and fun never really went together.

The small, crowded room was filled to the brim with chattering and severely inebriated nations, the music was too loud and utterly shite besides and it was dark, the air clogged up with whatever perfumes/colognes the nations had chosen to wear tonight.

All it was really doing was giving her a headache.

She must be getting old, Scotland mused tiredly as she watched America and Australia attempt a dance off, under the amused eyes of New Zealand and Canada.  Time was she’d been perfectly capable of dealing with crowded rooms, loud music and mildly offensive body odours but now all she wanted to do was go home and curl up with a good book.

At least her brothers appeared to be enjoying themselves, Wales and Belgium were talking in a corner, Ireland appeared to be chatting to a large group of nations by the bar and Scotland was trying her best to avoid seeing England and Portugal slow dancing. Nice as the dinner had been she had no real wish to revisit it.

She had seen neither hide nor hair of North since she’d spied him talking to Liechtenstein during dinner; Scotland told herself that North was a big boy now and was perfectly capable of dealing with enraged gun wielding big brothers. It would be character building if nothing else.  

France still hadn’t reappeared from his visit to the bar but considering the amount of bodies pressed together over there she wasn’t all that worried. Even if he was employing his best Parisian “charm” he’d still be stuck there for ages. Scotland groaned, let herself slump slightly in her chair only to feel the dress dig into her again and force her to sit up straight with a muttered curse. The Netherlands smirked at her from across the table “having problems?” he drawled.

Scotland glared in response and took the opportunity to ram her heel into his foot then smile innocently when he scowled at her.

He glowered at her, before sighing and leaning forwards on his elbows to ask “where’s France?”

Scotland nodded towards the bar; “fighting his way through the rabble” she answered before dryly adding “it could take a while”.

The Netherlands chuckled “you could go help him” he pointed out before taking an extra-long sip of his beer and shooting a glare over at his sister and Wales.

“Not in this dress I can’t” Scotland replied irritably “and can you stop glaring at my brother like that? He’s a proper gentleman and is in far more danger from _her_ ”.

Further conversation on their respective sibling’s love life was mercifully cut short by France coming back into sight through the crowd. The Netherlands took one look at the French nation’s stormy face and beat a hasty retreat, ignoring the “coward” Scotland shot after him.

France was a rather pleasant natured nation most of the time; well at least he was compared to her, his wrath was a terrifying thing but it was normally slow burning while Scotland was the one with a hair trigger temper.

Seeing him this pissed off when England was not involved was rare. But by the time he had slammed the drinks down of the table and thrown himself down in the Netherlands vacated spot Scotland realised that judging by the angle of his stiff shoulders and jaw he wasn’t just angry. He was hurt.  

Forcing down her first instinct to find the person or persons responsible and show them the true extent of her displeasure was far from easy.  She was meant to be a grown up responsible nation now and beating some idiots heads together, though satisfying and most likely well deserved, was not something she could get away with anymore.  Which was a pity, Scotland thought sourly as she studied Frances downcast expression.

“What’s the matter?” she ventured when it became clear that France was going to say nothing and was quite happy staring intently into his wine glass, he didn’t immediately answer preferring to just look broody. “Francis?” Scotland tried again slightly louder this time and he reluctantly raised his head slightly.

“Do you trust me?” he asked eventually, not meeting her eyes and keeping his voice low. Scotland leant forward across the table; biting down a hiss as her dress protested “I thought we had established that love?” she said softly “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t”.

France nodded stiffly, a slight frown on his face “I… I just wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t considering what they say” he muttered hesitantly.

“Who’s they and what are they saying?”

He laughed bitterly, bowing his head and hiding behind the fall of blond hair “apparently everyone believes that I am some form of unfaithful monster” he offered, quietly adding “they think that I am just leading you on, keeping you for rainy days while I sleep my way around the world ”.

Scotland could feel her own rage fighting to be let loose again but she let it out in an explosive sigh, getting angry would do fuck all good. “Shows how little they actually know then” she responded as she caught one of his larger hands in hers and pressed a kiss to it “and you know better to listen to them love”.   

“But” France pulled his hand free and looked down at the scuffed table “how do you know I’m not? I’m a lying bastard after all you said it yourself” he looked mildly disgusted with himself as he sat back “I’ve betrayed you before how can you still trust me with all the rumours going around?”

Scotland went silent; her face suddenly thoughtful and green eyes focused on him “well are they true?”

France looked up in shock “ _non_ , of course not!”

Then Scotland shrugged “I trust you” she said simply with a lopsided smile, “if you say it’s not true then I believe you. You’re not the same person you were back then and some people” she shot a venomous glare at crowd by the bar “haven’t noticed that yet”.

“Besides” she drawled while France fumbled for a response “I’ve figured out how to tell if you’re lying”,

France stared at her “… how?”

“If told you you’d stop doing it” she grinned at him “but aye I trust you and you need to stop listening to the bastards already”.

He pouted sitting back in his seat “I was more worried that you would believe them to be honest” he admitted.

“France I know I’m a wee bit daft but I don’t believe everything I hear”.

There was just a hint of a smile curling about the side of his lips now and Scotland took that as a personal victory, she picked up her untouched drink and shot him a smirk over the rim. “I say when I finish this we bail, this party is going to turn into a rammie when Spain realises exactly where England’s hands are and I can’t be arsed saving him again” she took a sip and grimaced “and their drink is pretty shite”.  

France nodded “ _oui_ there is far better things we could be doing” he managed to hide his leer only by actually trying his own wine then making a disgusted face “and I see what you mean about the drink”.

“If we can go I can get out of this fucking thing” Scotland growled as she adjusted her bodice “I think it’s trying to kill me”.

France laughed “then we must not waste any time”,

“Are you willing to rescue me from this dress then?” she questioned, her eyes glittering in amusement as he nodded eagerly.

As they got up to leave, their half full glasses left abandoned on the table, France grabbed her hand in his and pulled her close. Scotland allowed it with a smile and despite her usual aversion to looking soft she walked out of the party under the stares of a great deal of the world wearing a soppy grin, head held high and holding his hand tightly in hers.


End file.
